Page 38 of A Place Like You

Magic? I don’t know if there’s anything like that here, but it’s definitely different. I’ve lived in three different places, and none of them have felt like home—not even LA.

“Is that how you felt the first time you arrived five years ago?” I ask, wondering why she stayed.

“Oh, no. I . . . I’ve known and loved Heartwood Lake for almost my entire life. Dad used to have a cabin up here. Every summer we’d spend eight weeks with the nanny in turn,” she shares, her tone conveying bitterness and nostalgia.

“You had a nanny?” I ask, surprised.

“Only during summers and long holidays. It was cheaper than sending us to camps every week,” she explains, her body language relaxed, like a friend reminiscing about cherished memories. “That’s how I met my friends.”

She sounds casual, but I feel the loneliness underneath those words. My heart reaches out to her in silent empathy because I know what it is like to be left behind. Was her father like mine? What about her mother?

Though I have so many questions, I settle for the safest. “So, I take it you’re from Denver?”

“Yep, born and raised,” she confirms, her gaze focused on the clothing she folds. “I moved to Arizona for undergrad. Since I had AP classes and was able to take some courses during the summer, I graduated early. Then I went to Perelman School of Medicine. I did my residency at Denver Health Medical Center. It was closer to home and my friends,” she says, the words flowing like a winding river.

No one would notice that she offered those trivial details to avoid discussing her parents.

“How did you end up here?” I ask, genuinely curious about the path that led her to this small town.

“The doctor needed help. I came a few times a month until he convinced me to change my specialty from trauma surgeon to family medicine,” she explains, her tone thoughtful.

“That’s a big change,” I state, my mind trying to grasp the significance of such a shift. “How do you go from a fast-paced emergency room to a family practice?”

“It was a big change, but as Jez’s grandma says, ‘Everything happens for a reason,’” she says, not acknowledging my question.

“But is this what you really want?”

I’ve been a plastic surgeon for more than a decade. I’m no longer passionate about it. Switching specialties makes sense, but I saw her working on patients, and I don’t understand why she doesn’t pack her things and leave to pursue her passion.

“Sure. And as a bonus, I live in a wonderful place. It’s a tight-knit community, and people genuinely care about each other,” she replies, her expression softening, revealing her love for this town.

“Yeah, I can see that,” I say, my fingers fumbling with the fabric as I gather my thoughts.“It’s different from the city, but probably in a good way.”

She chuckles softly, and the sound is like music to my ears. “Definitely different,” she agrees playfully. “But it grows on you.”

Not sure if I’ll ever fully adjust to the town, but with each passing moment, I’m growing fonder of her. I can’t help but steal another glance at her, my heart pounding like a wild drumbeat in my chest. The tension between us grows like an invisible thread drawing us closer.

I want to reach out and take her hand in mine, press my mouth to hers, create a real connection. But I hold on to that thread of self-control and remind myself that Milo is in the other room.

A voice in the back of my head whispers, It’ll be just one kiss, just one stolen moment.

As I’m about to listen to that tempting voice, a faint noise comes from the monitor. It’s probably Milo, stirring in his sleep, and it’s enough to pull us back to reality. Wren’s gaze shifts toward her son’s room, her expression softening.

“He’s waking up,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I reply, unsure if I should be relieved or upset.

It’s probably for the best I say to myself, but another part of me longs for that stolen moment, that chance to taste her lips, to touch her curves, and to explore what could be between us.

Wren gets up, leaving the laundry almost done. I gather everything that’s been folded and place them carefully back into the basket. Everything else stays on the couch.

“Hi, you didn’t leave.” Milo comes out running.

“Hey, buddy.” I wave at him, offering a warm smile. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Yeah, I’m ready for the park.” Milo stretches and nods eagerly.

Wren suggests that we finish the laundry before we leave. Milo and I nod in agreement. He’s a pro at matching socks and folding them together, his small hands work diligently. It doesn’t take us long to finish everything before we leave for the park.

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